In the End, You'll Find What You Deserve
by Vita Fidens
Summary: Sequel to "Two Hearts Beat Until They're Broken." The clean-up begins following the explosion of violence between Dean Ambrose and Wade Barrett. How will both men handle the fallout? What will become of Molly? Rated T: Some sexual content
1. Chapter 1

Wade Barrett surveyed the room around him with little amusement.

His head was still pounding from the beating he'd taken and painfully inflamed from small pieces of glass being ripped out of his flesh by tweezers late last night. This did nothing to help improve his mood as he looked at the physical property damage caused by his fight with Dean Ambrose.

The mirror was, of course, beyond salvage. There was no glass left in the frame. The table beneath it, which had contained a vase and a few pictures, had splintered and was leaning precariously against the wall. The coat rack had been thrown into the wall behind it, leaving a gaping hole that gave a handy view of the studs holding the house together.

He was pleased to see that those, at least, were in good condition.

With a heavy sigh, he reached up to haul the mirror off the wall, attempting to ignore the aching in his shoulders and back.

He'd really overdone it yesterday. A wry thought of just how old he was getting popped into his head, and he pushed it away quickly. He was still young enough to handle his business appropriately. That was all that mattered.

"What in the hell happened here?"

He turned to see Sheamus' incredulous face in his doorway. His mouth fell into a perfect, gaping 'o' when he caught sight of Wade's face, which was not a pretty sight this morning.

"Everything's fine," Wade said, trying to reassure him and also keep him from yelling. He knew Molly was still sleeping and wanted her to get as much rest as possible after he'd woken her to stitch him up last night. "I had an altercation with Mr. Ambrose yesterday evening."

"Who got the worst of it?"

Wade glanced around him. "My front hall," he replied.

With the assistance of the large Irishman, he was able to remove all of the broken furniture and place it outside for removal. While they worked, he attempted to fill him in on the general picture of what had happened with Ambrose.

"Why on Earth is he after Molly?" Sheamus asked, puzzled. "He's said many times that he has no interest in being settled. Even hinted around the notion that that was why he left the States."

Barrett shrugged. "I don't know. Truthfully, I'm not sure if he's even completely aware of his motivations."

Sheamus was quiet for a long while. "Molly's smarter than that, right?"

"I believe so. We discussed it last night."

He wanted to leave it at that, and he thought that he'd be able to for a short while.

"If…you know…if it comes down to needing someone to marry Molly, I'd do it."

Wade glanced up and saw that Sheamus was resolutely refusing to look at him, his face bright red and his focus unusually intense on the mangled table they were carrying out.

"I don't know that it will come down to that," he replied, "but I'll keep you in mind if anything should change. You would be a good husband."

"It'd be easy to be a good husband to a woman like her."

"Don't get stars in your eyes and go all soft on me now," Barrett replied good-naturedly, a small grin on his face.

"Me? Soft?" Sheamus scoffed. "Nah. She's just a good woman. They're not easy to find."

"No, they're not," Wade agreed, thinking of his own wife.

Sheamus must have known the shape of his thoughts. "What does Abigail think of all this?" He gestured around the damaged furniture.

"I don't know. She left last night. I can only hope she won't be back."

Sheamus nodded slowly. "That might be best for everyone involved," he agreed.

"Which means, of course, that it won't happen," Wade replied, attempting to put an amused grin on his face and keep his tone light, in spite of the gnawing fear he had that he was absolutely correct.


	2. Chapter 2

Molly awoke, startled, when a hand clamped over her mouth and a soft kiss fell on her forehead.

She turned wide-eyed to see a sullen Mr. Ambrose lying in the bed beside her, stripped down to his shorts.

He was certainly the worse for wear this morning – his nose was obviously broken, his eyes ringed with two black bruises as a result. The worst of it appeared to be a nasty gash on his left cheek, to which he'd made no attempt at first aid.

Gently, she reached out and touched the wound. She wasn't sure if she should still stitch it up or not at this point.

"Are you going to yell?" He asked tiredly, his voice gruff. She noticed the bruising around his neck at that moment.

She shook her head, and he pulled his hand away. "I need to clean your face up," she said when she was able, attempting to stand up immediately. He held her down with a firm arm around her waist.

"You're not going to say a word about my presence. Do you understand me?" He asked, his face set in hard lines.

"I just want to help you," she answered calmly. "That's all. I don't need to see the two of you fight again."

He studied her for several minutes before nodding slowly and letting her up. "Molly," he said when she reached the door. She turned back to look at him. A ghastly approximation of a smile curled on his lips. "It's much nicer to watch you sleep from the bed instead of through the window."

She froze, stunned. This seemed to amuse him. Blushing fiercely, she turned and left the room without another word.

She tried not to think about yesterday or last night while she gathered the supplies she'd need to take care of Mr. Ambrose's injuries. She was trying to push away her uneasy thoughts of how frightening Mr. Barrett had been in his anger, and uneasy worries about Mr. Ambrose's true intentions towards her.

She thought that if she could simply have a day where nothing out of the ordinary happened, she might be able to breathe and think through all of these issues. Unfortunately, it was a luxury that she was sure she wouldn't be afforded.

Refusing to pity herself for her much improved, if not still undesirable, situation, she returned to her room with bandages and antiseptic wash.

She wasn't looking forward to this.

Steeling herself, she put Mr. Ambrose in the chair by the window for the best light and set to work.

He muttered curses under his breath when she began cleaning his face, at one point gripping her wrists tightly to stop her hands.

"Please let go," she said quietly. "You're hurting me."

"And what you're doing tickles," he hissed, but his hands loosened their hold. "Just get this over with."

She bit her lip to keep from snapping at him that that's what she was _trying_ to do. She tried to remember that he was in pain and obviously not himself, but she wasn't sure how accurate that statement truly was.

Finally, she finished by applying a heavy bandage to the cut on his face. It had started to heal on its own already, and she elected not to stitch it as a result. That decision may have also had something to do with wanting him out of her room that much more quickly.

"It'll take a few days for everything to heal properly," she said, stepping back from him. "Try not to get hit in the meantime."

"What sage advice," he snapped, standing up and putting his hands on her shoulders. "Now get undressed and get back into bed. I still require your assistance."


	3. Chapter 3

She moved slowly, pulling off her nightgown and settling into the bed. He stood over her, staring for a few moments.

He was in a powerfully bad mood this morning, and even his little Miss Molly was doing nothing to quell that mood.

"I don't know," he said slowly, "that I'll be able to be nice to you today."

He enjoyed the rush of fear that filled her eyes, although he knew that he should be careful. He'd made such good progress, and the wrong move now would undo all of his hard work.

The anger festering in his chest made it nearly impossible for him to listen to that logic, and he reached out for her with the intention of pulling her up by her hair.

The fear in her burned out and was replaced with absolute resignation.

That was the first thing that made him pause.

He knew, in that moment, that he had already won. She would do anything that he asked of her, including becoming his wife.

That stopped his hand, and after a brief moment of consideration he pulled it back.

If he antagonized her now, she might fight back. She might lose that fearful wariness that had become such a huge part of her compliance, and he would have to start the process all over again. Except this time the process might be longer and much more difficult.

He needed to contain his temper.

"I'm sorry," he said after a moment, attempting to control the rage rattling through his very core. "You have been nothing but kind to me this morning. You deserve much better than the treatment I've been giving you."

She looked suspicious, and rightfully so. He forced what he hoped was a natural-looking smile on his face. "It's not often that I let anyone see the dark side of me," he said truthfully. "You, unfortunately, have been special from the start. I'm afraid it's made me think – wrongfully so – that I have some sort of license to treat you differently." He paused and licked his lips, amazed at what had just tumbled out of his mouth.

Her face had softened a bit. Taking this as a good sign, he sat on the bed beside her and covered her hand with his. "I'm going to try to be better about that," he said. "I'm going to try to be nicer."

"Why?" She asked slowly. "Why bother?"

He looked away. "I like you," he finally admitted. "I realize I probably lost my opportunity to make you believe that I'm a good man. But I still feel that I need to try to convince you." He glanced back at her, a small smile bringing out the dimple in his cheek. He brought his other hand up and lightly stroked her hair out of her face.

"Who knows," he continued. "If I'm successful, maybe both of our lives will be better for it."

"I very much doubt that," a voice said dryly from the doorway.

Ambrose cursed his luck as he stood and turned to regard Mr. Barrett.


	4. Chapter 4

He was pleased to see that Barrett was just as battered as he was. He was displeased to see that the red-headed Irish oaf was behind him.

Molly pulled the blankets over her bare skin, embarrassed beyond measure. No one seemed to notice.

"What are you doing in my house?" Barrett asked, his fists clenching tightly.

Ambrose pointed to the bandage on his face. "I couldn't find Doc. Molly was the only other person I knew capable of patching me up."

Barrett studied him with a sneer. "And you're both in various states of dress because…?"

He knew that he shouldn't rise to the bait. But his mood was still dark enough to override his sense of logic.

"Because I was hoping I'd get to fuck her," he replied smartly.

Wade crossed the room quickly, his hands reaching out for Ambrose.

"Slow down now, lads," Sheamus interrupted, stepping in between the two of them and firmly placing a hand on each man's chest to hold them apart. "Nothing good is going to come out of you two tussling again. Separate corners."

"Sheamus," Wade said through clenched teeth, "butt out, mate, before I hurt you."

"One thing we finally agree on," Ambrose spat.

"No. I'm serious, now. You've done this once and nobody won. This time won't be any different. There needs to be a better way to resolve this."

"Yes," Ambrose agreed. "Let me marry Molly like both she and I want."

"No," Barrett replied.

Sheamus glanced to Molly, who was looking back and forth between the two men, wide-eyed, while she clutched a sheet against her.

"Let's discuss this somewhere else, like proper adults." He nodded towards Molly. Barrett's temper ratcheted down several degrees when he saw the shock and fear on her face, but Ambrose didn't even glance in her direction.

As a result, Sheamus kept his hands on him and pulled him out of the room instead of Wade.

Wade stared at her for a few minutes, his temper cooling. "Why was he in here?"

"He-he needed his face looked at," she replied honestly.

"Did you invite him in?"

"No."

"Why didn't you call for me when you found him here?"

She looked at him helplessly. "He needed to be bandaged. I couldn't leave him like that."

"Why did you undress for him?"

She fell silent, her cheeks turning so red that they were nearly purple. He sighed heavily, worrying his tongue over his teeth. No matter how hard he tried to avoid it, his anger towards her was rising incredibly.

"Get dressed and meet me in my study. We apparently have quite a bit to discuss if you'd like to continue being employed here."

She immediately looked ill, and he had a moment of spiteful satisfaction from those words before he spun on his heel and left the room.


	5. Chapter 5

While Molly was bracing herself for the worst, resolving not to cry, Ambrose and Barrett were staring at each other from across the dining room table.

Sheamus sat in between the two of them, wondering how in the hell he'd gotten into the position of peacekeeper today.

"All right," he started slowly, recognizing that he was in unfamiliar territory. "Lay it out. What, exactly, is causing the strife between you two?"

"You need to stay out of my house, and stay away from Molly," Barrett said immediately.

Ambrose grinned. "She doesn't want me to stay away from her. Have you not realized this yet?"

"I don't care what she wants. This is my house, and she will abide by my rules."

He leaned forward and studied the older man. "Is there a particular reason you're so attached to having her here? You didn't want her at first. Why has that changed?"

Barrett's mouth moved soundlessly for a few moments. "I don't see what that has to do with our current situation."

"It has _everything_ to do with our current situation." Ambrose paused. "Have you been taking advantage of her?"

Barrett blinked, visibly stunned. "Are you out of your mind?" He roared. "If anyone has been taking advantage of her, it's _you_. She and I discussed you at length, Mr. Ambrose. And while I'm not entirely sure _what_ your motivations are, I know that they're not benign."

Ambrose leaned back, lacing his fingers over his chest. "Molly and I have been intimate in some ways," he admitted. "She's enjoyed every moment." The lie slid from his lips easily. "My intentions _are_ benign – I want to marry the girl. I do believe if I were to ask, she would agree."

"I believe you're wrong," Barrett growled, his expression dark.

Sheamus watched this exchange with profound surprise. He'd expected that the situation with Molly was merely a front for a deeper issue, and that if they had any quarrel it would have been over Abigail. Barrett had never truly forgiven either of them for their affair. He realized that this new situation was probably bringing old resentments to the surface, which only intensified their anger towards one another. He knew, at that moment, that the only way to solve this issue would be to put time and space between the two of them.

It had worked once. He hoped it might work again.

"Listen, there's no way we can work this out today," he interrupted just as each of them was primed to start yelling. "You both need some time to figure out what you want, and figure out if the struggle is worth it."

"Oh it's worth it," Ambrose muttered.

Sheamus ignored him and turned to Wade. "Talk to Molly. Get to the bottom of this." He turned back to Ambrose. "You're coming with me to Ireland for two weeks. Friend of mine is starting a new ring and needs some talent to get things rolling. You'll be compensated well. Go home and pack a bag; I will be there to retrieve you in half an hour."

Wade glanced at Sheamus, surprised. "You're leaving?"

The Irishman nodded. "It's what I came to tell you this morning, before all this."

"You will be coming back?" Wade asked slowly, selfishly thinking that this was simply just what he needed this morning.

"Yes. I'll return with Mr. Ambrose, and we'll all go about our usual business." 'I hope,' Sheamus added mentally, although he could sense that the disaster created by this situation would only be delayed, not halted entirely.

He feared that there would still, in the end, be Hell to pay.


	6. Chapter 6

Barrett refused to let Ambrose say goodbye to Molly, stating firmly that he would inform her of his whereabouts.

He didn't trust the man for a minute, but he knew better than to attempt to pick a fight. He was still in rough shape from the previous night, and he certainly wasn't about to fight two men for the privilege of saying a temporary goodbye.

He had determined already that it _would_ be temporary, no matter what Mr. Barrett's thoughts on the matter might be.

He angrily threw clothing into his suitcase, his mind working furiously as to how he could recover the ground lost from this new development. He gave up, slamming the lid shut, when he realized that he was simply far too angry to be rational.

"Don't think you've won, Wade," he snarled to himself. "Don't you dare think that for one moment."

Barely sparing a glance around him, he hurtled down the stairs and into the street to await the beginning of his exile.

A mere four blocks away, Wade Barrett paced in his study.

Molly should be here by now.

Impatient to speak with her, he threw open the door and made his way to her room. He didn't bother to knock, merely shoving open her door.

He stopped short when he saw her sitting on the bed, her face buried in her hands and her shoulders shaking.

Hell.

The anger that had been building up in him deflated immediately, and he went to sit beside her. She didn't move until he'd wrapped his arms around her shoulders, flinging her arms around his neck and crying into his chest.

"I'm so sorry," she managed to say through her sobs.

He rolled his eyes, irritated with himself for being so spiteful earlier. "You know that I couldn't have you leave, right?" He asked, lightly rubbing her back. "You know that I want you here."

She seemed to calm after he said that. Eventually, all the noise in the room died down to soft, infrequent sniffles.

"I'm sorry about what I said earlier," he finally spoke when he was unable to bear the silence any longer.

"I deserved to hear that," she replied, her voice sounding hollow. "You told me to stay away from Mr. Ambrose. I didn't listen."

He gently pulled her away from him to look into her eyes. "Why didn't you listen?"

Her lips started quivering and she looked away briefly. "Do you care for him?" He pressed.

"No," she finally said in a low voice. "No, I don't care for him. I just…" she bit her lip. "I like the things he does to me."

His heart sped up before dropping in his chest. She must have noticed some small change in his expression.

"Does that make me a terrible person?"

"No," he replied immediately. "It makes you a human being." He sighed heavily and took one of her hands in his. "There's no shame in enjoying things that are supposed to be pleasurable. I just really wish that you wouldn't enjoy them with him."

She managed a small laugh. "So do I." She debated on saying the next words that came out of her mouth. "The man I really want is unfortunately unavailable."

He closed his eyes, a pained expression falling over his face. "He is," he agreed. "He wishes that he wasn't."

She nodded, fresh tears coming to her eyes. "I know. But, regardless, these are the circumstances we find ourselves in. I need to do my best to continue on with my life."

"Does continuing with your life mean eventually marrying Mr. Ambrose?" He asked bluntly.

She looked away. That was all the answer he needed, and just the one he'd feared.

Unable to tolerate this for a moment longer, he abruptly stood and left the room.


	7. Chapter 7

Wade thought about the situation he found himself in for a very long time that day.

He and Molly maintained separate spaces in the house, each of them staying out of the other's path.

Finally, when she came to call him to dinner, he settled on his course of action.

"Wait," he said as she turned to leave. "I want to talk to you."

Wary but resigned, she turned back and tentatively stepped towards him. "What would you care to discuss?"

He closed the distance left between them and put his hands on her shoulders. Staring into her eyes for a moment, he bent and pressed his lips to hers.

After a moment of this friendly sort of kiss, he parted her lips with his tongue and felt a wave of unbridled desire sweep through him when she began to kiss him back.

His hands wove through her hair and he pulled her closer to him for a brief moment before she moved away.

"What are you doing?" She asked tiredly.

He reached out for her again, crushing his lips against hers. This time he allowed his hands to wander over her – down her sides and then back up to lightly run over her breasts. Her nipples hardened beneath his fingers and he ran his thumbs over them in a circular motion several times, barely containing a smile when she began to return his kiss with greater intensity.

She wrenched away from him again, her eyes full of reluctance. "Wade…." She said gently, her tone full of admonitions.

"All right," he sighed, taking her hand and leading her to the sofa. They sat in silence for a few moments before he worked out how to begin.

"I hope that it's obvious how much I care for you," he started quietly. "I know that it's totally improper and I've tried to talk myself out of my feelings since the first night you arrived. I'm married, no matter how unhappily – and I refuse to ask you to compromise yourself by being my mistress. But what if I wasn't married?"

She held her breath for a moment. He couldn't be saying what she thought he was saying. "What do you mean?"

He took a deep breath. "My wife has had several affairs since we were wed – Mr. Ambrose is counted among those men – and now she's run off. I have ample grounds for divorce."

The words hung between them for several moments. "Would you actually go through with it?"

"Yes," he said immediately. "I love you too much to simply stand by while another man takes care of your needs, needs that I have dreamed about fulfilling every night since you came here. I love you too much to let you walk away, to let you walk into the arms of a man who will only hurt you in the end when I could have stopped being such a blind idiot and improved both of our lives tenfold." He paused. "I love you," he finished simply. "No matter what other words I say, those are the ones that matter. I love you."


	8. Chapter 8

"Please," she whispered frantically, pushing her hips towards him.

He nearly complied with her request before his better senses took hold and, instead, he slid back with a pained groan.

The disappointment was evident on her face, and he was sure that his own was reflecting the same emotion.

"Not yet, darling," he said gently, bending to kiss her and using all of his effort to keep from pushing forward and making a liar of himself. "There will be plenty of time for that once we're married."

With a Herculean effort, he moved away from her completely. It had been such a long time since he'd touched a woman intimately. The fact that the woman in question was actually Molly, who had haunted his less gentlemanly dreams for some time now, seemed to only intensify his need. He had found himself partially inside of her before he truly realized what was happening, and further found that he didn't give a damn for propriety.

It was only when he'd finally encountered resistance that he'd stopped. And even then, with her whispered plea, he nearly continued onward.

He sensed that being this close was a dangerous proposition, but found that he didn't care. He'd spent too much time overthinking all aspects of their relationship, and he'd nearly lost her as a result.

It wasn't going to happen again.

Desperately needing a distraction, he grabbed her legs and brought them up over his shoulders before burying his face between her thighs.

He used his mouth with a sense of urgency, unable to slow or stop himself until she was trembling against him, her legs thrashing against his ears while her hand wove its way into his hair and tugged at the strands.

Finally, as her shaking ceased, he pulled back from her and pulled himself up to his knees. He watched her for a few moments, smiling at the thought that those fluttering eyes, those perfect breasts that rose and fell with each respiration, were his.

Gently, he ran his erection through her lips, amazed that he was still hard. She pressed her hips towards him again, another quiet plea falling from her lips.

It was almost his undoing.

"Be careful," he murmured, pulling away from her again. "If you keep asking, I won't be able to say no one of these times."

She grinned in wicked amusement and her hips surged towards him once more, her mouth forming those words that were driving him insane. "Please?"

He stared down at her, both amused and frustrated by her boldness. "You're cheeky," he laughed, bending down to kiss her. He didn't think he'd ever get tired of kissing her.

After several more satisfying variations of play, including one delightful moment in which he found himself in her mouth, they both collapsed onto the sofa they'd been occupying for hours.

He wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her closer to him and kissing her again and again. She nestled into his body, more contented than she'd ever been in her short life.

"I'm not dreaming, am I?" She asked, tracing a pattern on his bare chest.

"No, love," he confirmed for the third time that evening, plucking her hand off of his chest and kissing it gently.

"This is real…you and I…."

He smiled. "Molly," he said, bringing her chin up so her eyes met his. "I love you. I'm sorry it's taken me this long to stop being a hard-headed idiot about it. I'm going to marry you, sweetheart, and we're going to have a long and happy life together. We're both going to have the life we deserve."


	9. Chapter 9

Two weeks had been entirely too long for Dean Ambrose.

He'd been able to beat the tar out of some arrogant Irish bastards who thought they knew how to fight, he'd been able to drink himself into a stupor and have a few quick tumbles with some local lasses. It still wasn't enough to calm him. Nothing would be. Not until Barrett stopped this nonsense and Molly married him.

Sheamus had asked him, drunk one night, why he wanted Molly so badly. Ambrose had told him to mind his business before he broke his nose, and the Irishman had backed off immediately – but it was a question that stuck with him regardless.

He saw something in her – a toughness that wasn't in most women. She might hide it well by being soft-spoken and obedient, but he'd seen that brutal part of her. He'd even been on the receiving end of some of that brutality.

Partially, he was curious about where such anger came from. He supposed that might have been why he'd had so many women attracted to him over the years – perhaps they wondered the same about him. Mostly, however, he wanted her because he knew that she could handle him. No other woman had instilled that kind of confidence in him before. He was certain that she could take him at his worst and still walk away. Bearing scars of battle, yes, but walking.

He liked that.

At the end of the day, wasn't that the only reason he needed to have? He liked her enough that he wanted her around for the rest of his life.

They made it back to London in the very early hours of the morning, and Ambrose decided that he didn't want to wait another moment to see Molly. Even if it was simply to watch her sleep.

He dropped his suitcase off at his house and walked the four blocks to Barrett's house, grateful to be home and looking forward to getting his life started.

He made his way to the small window in the kitchen that had been his means of access for some time now, prying it open and stepping in quietly. He made his way to her room, feeling easiness settle on him for the first time in weeks.

She wasn't there.

He stood in the doorway, puzzled, for several moments. Her possessions were still there. Glancing at the desk, he saw her diary open.

Hoping for some hint, some clue as to where she might be, he picked it up and read it by the moonlight.

"Mr. Barrett…Mr. Barrett…Mr. Barrett…Wade…Wade," he murmured darkly, flipping through the pages until several words jumped out at him and pushed his heart into his throat.

He knew that he should leave, and he should leave before he did something he regretted. Instead, he slammed the book down.

He needed to see. He needed to be sure.

He crept into the study. No one there. The blankets and pillows that had adorned the sofa to serve as Barrett's bed were gone.

Turning his attention to the stairs, he moved up them as quietly as he could – it hadn't been too long ago that he'd needed to be perfectly silent as he went to or from Abigail's room, and his memory served him well. There was one tense moment where Barrett coughed and he'd taken a misstep as a result, but the creaking beneath his foot went unnoticed after several minutes and he continued on.

He paused outside of the bedroom door, asking himself if he was sure he wanted to see this. Asking if he was aware of the kinds of consequences there might be for him losing his temper.

Biting his lip, he pushed the partially-open door all of the way to the wall, taking care that the knob didn't actually hit the wall loudly enough to make a sound.

There, on the bed in front of him, was the confirmation of his suspicions.

Molly and Barrett were both beneath a sheet, but it was easy to see that they were undressed. He was on his back, arm wrapped around Molly. She was on her side, pressed against him tightly.

Ambrose stared for several minutes, taking in all of the painful details – her breasts resting on his chest, her legs crossed over his. Her hair spilling over his arm, the one holding her so tightly.

He closed his eyes, and he could still see the two of them.

He knew that he had to leave then, or things truly would become dire. His fists had clenched so tightly that he could feel blood beginning to well and spill over his fingernails, his teeth had bitten his lower lip hard enough to draw blood.

Still attempting to move quietly, he left the house with greatest speed possible.

He paced and drank all night, throwing empty bottles into the fireplace and loving the musical tones of the glass hitting the stone. He tried to ignore the anger building inside of him and think logically about how to adapt to this new situation.

After passing out for several hours, he awoke with a blinding headache in the bright light of afternoon…and he knew what he had to do.

He showered and dressed carefully, forcing water down his gullet so he felt less nauseous and his mouth tasted less like stale booze and cigarettes. Once he was moderately more lucid, he slowly began to walk towards the Barrett house – but he did not stop. He continued on for several more blocks and knocked on the door of a well-kept brick building.

"Abigail," he said charmingly when she answered the door. "I'm afraid I need to bother you with a request for a favor."


	10. Sequel

Thank you, once again, for reading, reviewing, favoriting, tweeting, and telling me I'm evil ;) I have posted the next part of the story in order to not leave you all hanging. It can be found under the title "You Made This Harder Than it Had to Be." Enjoy!


End file.
